


Never Seemed so Good

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Aged up!Five, Coming In Pants, Drunk!Five, F/M, Flirting, Open ended, PWP, handjobs, porn without plot/plot what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 10:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Vanya thinks it must’ve been all that time alone, but Five flinches when anyone so much as brushes against him. The only times he doesn’t is if he initiates the touch, or if he’s blackout drunk——Or if it’s Vanya touching him.She learns such a fact not over the careful course of experiments or bashful accidents, but instead a drunken confession from none other than Five himself.





	Never Seemed so Good

**Author's Note:**

> written for this kink meme prompt: _Five/Vanya - Vanya's the only one Five lets close enough to touch. Neither of them want to stop once they start._
> 
> this is pretty tame but still was a lot of fun to write! also fwiw, I personally use Brendon Urie as my headcanon for aged up!Five 
> 
> big thanks to hannah for beta'ing!!
> 
> enjoy!

The apocalypse changed Five.

Even now, in the aftermath of saving the world, it’s obvious.

He talks to himself, aloud, a lot more than he ever used to. Even without Delores by his side, most of his thoughts are really like one-sided conversations. Conversations with a ghost, as he’ll sometimes pause, waiting for an answer that never comes.

He drinks. It’s gotten better, but it’s enough to put even Klaus to shame. He rarely eats and when he does, he has this look in his eye—like maybe he’s wishing for the meals he had back in the apocalypse, or like the food he eats now doesn’t taste quite right.

(Peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, Vanya notes with some pride, are still his favorite.)

Then there’s the touching; Vanya thinks it must’ve been all that time alone, but Five flinches when anyone so much as brushes against him. The only times he doesn’t is if he initiates the touch, or if he’s blackout drunk—

—Or if it’s Vanya touching him.

She learns such a fact not over the careful course of experiments or bashful accidents, but instead a drunken confession from none other than Five himself.

 

Five stumbles in from the kitchen, sloshing a margarita. Vanya watches him from the corner of her eye as she tries to read, but it quickly becomes clear that Five is coming for the couch. She dog ears the page in her book preemptively, and sure enough Five comes tumbling onto the couch, nearly spilling his drink in the process, and lets his head fall into her lap.

Vanya sets aside her book and carefully coaxes the margarita from Five’s loose-fingered grasp.

“S’my fifth drink,” he slurs.

“Jesus,” she murmurs, unable to keep the affection out of her voice. It isn’t that she likes him drinking, it’s just... _Five_. She bends to set the drink on the floor by her feet, and when she sits up straight again, she finds Five looking up at her. “How you feeling?” She asks with a quiet laugh.

Five flashes her a toothy grin. She’s still getting used to this version of him, the thirty-year-old one. She remembers his sweet thirteen-year-old face and his short frame just barely taller than hers. She remembers pictures at the commission of his fifty-eight-year-old self, white haired and wrinkled. This, the slight age in his features and the way he’s no long gangly or scrawny and how full his lips are—it’s all still new to her.

“I’m great,” he says. “How are you?”

Vanya shrugs. “Can’t complain.”

Five hums and turns, presses his face against her thigh, nuzzles against her soft lounge pants. “Good.” His eyes shut slowly. “Glad.”

“Thanks, Five.” Her cheeks hurt from the force of her grin; his kindness is nothing new, but it never fails to warm her from the inside out. “I think you’re done for the night.”

He pouts at her, actually _pouts_ at her, and it startles a laugh from deep in her chest. His pout almost immediately dissipates to be replaced with another bright grin. “I like your laugh.”

Vanya shakes her head and brings her hand to his face to gently cup his cheek. She freezes though, just seconds before her palm can meet his skin.

Five stares at her as he turns his head and presses his face against her hand. “I don’t mind when it’s you,” he says softly. His eyes shut again and he lets out a shaky breath as her thumb traces the edge of his jaw. “It’s okay, when it’s you.”

“Okay,” she replies. She gently drags her hand up the side of his face, her fingers catching on the slightest bit of stubble, until she can comb her fingers through his hair. It’s something she used to do when they were younger, until things started to change—they grew up, Dad got stricter about leaving the kids alone together, Five disappeared—and she’s missed it. Wonders if he’s missed it to.

He melts under her touch, which she thinks means _yes._ He even lets out a soft groan as her nails scratch over his scalp.

“Everyone else…” Five starts. She waits. “I don’t know what it is.”

“We were never very close with the rest of them,” she reminds him, thinking back to Allison and Luther sneaking off, Klaus and Ben holing up wherever they could, Diego shifting from group to group as it suited him. They all steered clear of Vanya, except for Five. Always Five.

Five attempts to shrug. “I suppose.”

Vanya runs her fingers through his hair and undoes the careful coif. “Maybe it’s just because you’re drunk,” she teases.

Five’s eyes snap open. “No.” He says it so suddenly, with such force, she immediately believes him. “It’s not that. I’ve never minded you touching me.”

Her hand stopped when he startled her, so she resumes. “Okay.”

Silence falls over them like a tense but warm blanket. Familiar, if a bit uncomfortable. There was always this tension around them when they were younger, too. This inevitable feeling of hurtling toward a wall, but coupled with _excitement_. There was the tension of Dad watching over them, looming. The way the rest of the siblings sneered at Vanya. The fights they had, over Five wanting to time travel and Vanya scared of being left alone.

“Hey,” Five says. He’s got a hint of humor in his tone. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

Five _giggles_ , and it’s such a strange and foreign sound, Vanya wishes she could record it and keep it in her pocket. “Sometimes I’d think of you touching me, in the future.”

Vanya’s hand stills for a second. “In the apocalypse?”

Five nods and, in an uncharacteristically uncoordinated display, smushes his face against her thigh, less like the gentle press from before and more of a sloppy nuzzle. “I missed you,” he whines.

“I missed you too, Five.”

“Good.” Five’s brow furrows. “Not, not _good_. I never wanted to upset you.”

Vanya shushes him. “No, no, it’s okay. You’re here now.” She scratches her nails along his scalp and watches his eyes flutter. “It’s okay.”

Five, in his drunken state, is quickly soothed. He carries on talking as if they never got distracted. “I used to think of you…” He trails off and the drunken flush on his cheeks heats up. “Nevermind.”

“Tell me,” Vanya commands.

Five obeys. “I used to think of you touching me, when I...touched myself.” His eyes are still shut and his lips shake as he speaks.

Vanya’s heart is going to beat out of her chest, she swears. “You did?”

“I still do,” Five admits. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she tells him quickly. “It’s okay,” she says again. She fights the urge to squirm as heat grows between her legs. “Tell me more,” she says.

Five’s eyes finally open and his pupils are dilated. He licks his lips. “Okay.” He shivers as Vanya’s hand keeps a steady pace stroking his hair. “I would... I would masturbate, and imagine it was you.”

Vanya bites her bottom lip. Five narrows his eyes.

“I came, thinking of your hands on me,” he murmurs in a low voice. “I still like to.”

“Every time?”

“Most times,” Five says. His growling tone shifts to something apologetic. “Sometimes it was just...the feeling. But I never imagined anyone else’s touch.”

Vanya raises the hand not tangled in Five’s hair and trails it down his chest. He’s in sweats and a tee, so amusingly casual compared to his usual suit and tie. His chest heaves as her fingertips dance down his chest until she hits the drawstring tie of his sweats. She teases under the elastic and runs a finger over the sensitive skin.

Five shivers. “Vanya,” he breathes.

She withdraws her fingers and moves her hand to cup his hardening cock, instead. “Like this? She asks.

Five moans and thrusts his hips up to meet her. “Yes,” he whines.

Vanya curls her fingers around his length, relishing the feeling of the heat and hardness growing in her hand. Her own breathing is as labored as Five’s; it’s not like she’s never touched someone like this but the fact that it’s _Five_ has her almost painfully turned on.

“Vanya,” he moans again.

Vanya starts to stroke him over the fabric of his sweats. Her grip is loose and he thrusts up into the friction. Five’s breathing comes out in harsh pants, little moans that are almost Vanya’s name. She’s hardly moving her hand; he’s really doing all the work. But it leaves her attention free to focus on Five’s face and the way it contorts in pleasure. His mouth hangs open as he gasps and his lips are flushed deep pink. His eyes keep fluttering but the closer he gets, the tighter he shuts his eyes.

“Is this what you pictured?” Vanya asks him.

Five nods frantically.

“Are you close?”

Another nod, offset by a wanton, shaky moan.

Vanya tightens her grip slightly and Five’s body goes tense suddenly. Wet heat stains the front of his sweats and Vanya strokes him through the sensations, wishing his pants weren’t in the ‘way. Five bucks into her touch and throws his head back before finally going limp.

Vanya wipes her hand on another part of his sweats, and by the time she looks at his face again—after a few shameless moments staring at the softening bulge in his pants—Five is looking at her.

“I don’t want you to stop touching me,” he says. His voice is steady and firm. He’s not sober but he’s not slurring, either, and the look in his eyes is _hungry_. “I don’t want to stop touching you.”

Vanya swallows. She knows he can teleport them both up to one of their rooms, where’s there’s a _bed_ and _condoms_ and _privacy_. She knows what she wants to do to him, and wants to find out what he wants to do to her. She licks her lips and watches Five track the movement with his eyes.

She drags her hands up from his dick to slip under his shirt, lets her hand rest on his stomach. Teasingly, she drums her fingers against the slight curve of his abs. She looks him dead in the eyes, and says—

“So don’t.”


End file.
